


what if you

by exprsslyfrbidden



Series: say you feel the way I do [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, F/F, and dramatic internal monologues, drunken decisions, feelings of general hopelessness, pt. 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exprsslyfrbidden/pseuds/exprsslyfrbidden
Summary: but for tonight/I'll stay with youShe has this night because Kara asked her to stay; nothing else. Kara asked and she gave, a miniature replica of the Shakespearean tragedy playing out in her life.If she’s the doomed protagonist, then her fatal flaw is loving Kara Danvers.In which Lena makes some rash decisions, throws her own angst-fest, and runs away from her problems.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thisis-control on tumblr:  
> "I need someone to do a two-part supercorp fic based off of Joshua Radin’s “What If You” and “I’d Rather Be With You,” with part one being wicked super angsty and from Lena’s pov and part two being the fluff recovery from Kara’s pov."
> 
> I'm a sucker for pain and also have no time to write, so here we are! Part two to come once I get my life together.

It’s been twelve days since her mother was taken to prison. The sun is sinking into a horizon of over-saturated blood reds and tiger orange, and Lena has to come to terms with a fact of life.

 

Everybody lies.

 

Strangers, family, friends, enemies, lovers; deceit is the one thread that knits together all the people in her life.

 

Her first girlfriend said that she loved Lena and only her.

Lex promised he would always be there for her.

Investors pledged to come through with money.

Her best friend assured her that they would never lose contact.

Lillian said she loved her.

 

But worst of all? The one that sticks a knife into her gut and twists, serrated edges ripping her insides to shreds?

 

“ _I care, Lena._ ” So emphatic, so _genuine_ at the time.

 

Kara Danvers, lying! A cognitive dissonance for sure; how can somebody with such a sunshine smile and puppy-dog demeanor lie so blatantly? She supposes that the same principle of “it’s always the quiet ones” applies here, too. Nobody ever expects perpetually smiling, overabundantly kind Kara Danvers to be a snake. Lena had fallen for it, easily. Who was she to suspect a lie when she was hearing exactly what she wanted to hear?

 

The golden disk finally slips under the horizon, the jagged skyline outside Lena’s balcony plunging into young night. City fireflies, those LED squares of people working overtime, dot the long shadows that are buildings. Lena tips the bottle of whiskey sitting on her desk and fills her tumbler. The glass is familiar in her grip, moreso because of recent events. Somehow, she’s managed to inherit her foster mother’s penchant and tolerance for drink. It’s probably the best thing she’s ever gotten from Lillian.

 

“ _I care, Lena._ ”

 

It’s so vivid, the memory of the earnest honesty on Kara’s face. Lena doesn’t remember what they had been talking about — her mother, an article, who knows — and a self-deprecating comment had slipped out. A bad habit around Kara; she always finds herself lacking when she’s in the vicinity of that bright-eyed reporter. It’s hard not to. Can anybody on this earth match such unfiltered spirit and goodwill? Kara had responded with surprising forcefulness, sincerity in the curve of her spine. “ _I care, Lena._ ”

 

Lies, falsification, all of it. Where’s Cat Grant’s darling reporter now? Cajoling her way into another high-profile source’s heart?

 

The thought stops her mid-swallow, whiskey searing in her throat. The bitterness that she’s been trying to ignore forces a grimace on her face. _Into her heart._ Well, now there’s no doubt about it, is there?

 

Despite her best intentions, despite the attempts at aloofness from her logical side, Kara Danvers had flown over her walls and implanted herself into Lena’s life. She’s like an infection, sneaking little bits of herself into every aspect of Lena’s existence. She’s afraid that trying to remove Kara could lead to further complications.

 

She really should have learned from her previous experiences. She really should have kept their relationship professional. She really should have done this, should have done that….

 

The alcohol settles into the pit of her stomach, simmering warmly. Under that flame, her anger sharpens, melts into fury. She’s furious at Kara for abandoning her. For lying. She’s furious at herself for believing her, for giving her almost two weeks before realizing the worst. Kara doesn’t care. There’s no reason a friend like Kara wouldn’t immediately be at her side following the arrest of her mother.

 

No reason, except for the fact that Kara’s not really Lena’s friend. Another liar, like the rest of them.

 

 _I care, I care, I care, Lena._ The words pound in her head alongside her heartbeat as she downs another glass of whiskey. This is too fast, she knows; she’s going to have a hangover tomorrow and she can’t afford it. But there are no texts on her phone and no notifications from the one Instagram account she cares about. The bottle is more than half empty.

 

The reminder on her phone is the only thing that drags Lena from her swivel chair to the elevator and then to the garage. She has a flight to Japan to catch tomorrow, and a hangover in bed is infinitely appreciated over a hangover on the couch in her office.

 

She stumbles a little as she exits the elevator. The garage is silent and cavernous, her sleek BMW the only thing left. She’s in no condition to drive, but she doesn’t quite care for her own well-being at the moment. For some reckless reason, the thought of nobody caring if she lives or dies or drowns in her sorrow is oddly freeing. Like she has no expectations to fulfill anymore.

 

She digs in her purse for her keys, swaying slightly. Where are her damn keys? She’s never driven drunk before; she wonders what Kara would say. She’d probably forbid Lena from doing it, probably offer to drive Lena herself. Foolish, naϊve girl.

 

She doesn’t know if she’s referring to Kara or herself.

 

Lost in thought and still looking for her keys, Lena doesn’t notice the man in the burglar mask until she’s staring down the black mouth of his pistol.

 

“Gimme the keys,” he snarls, hand outstretched in a grasping claw. “And your wallet. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

 

Lena stares at him dumbly, stunned at the idea of being robbed in the garage of her own building. Doesn’t she have security for this kind of thing? Is this a gag TV show? He shakes the gun threateningly, eyes bloodshot through the holes in the woven mask. “ _Do it!_ ”

 

Lena shrugs casually, feeling her heart stutter wildly. “I can’t find them.”

 

He shakes his head madly. “I don’t care, find them! I won’t hesitate to shoot you!” The hand with the gun is waving around jerkily. The safety is off. She sifts through her bag again, feeling like her movements are through water. Damn, she’s drunker than she thought.

 

“Why do you even want my car?” she muses aloud. “You know they’ll just trace it back to me? Nobody’s going to believe you just bought a BMW.”

 

The sudden change in his posture is more terrifying than the gun in his hand. His back straightens, the insane light goes out of his eyes, and the gun steadies. “Well, you’re no fun,” he remarks. “Give me the purse.”

 

She stiffens. Blood rushes in her ears. “Who sent you?” Stall tactic; they both know the answer to that. Sometimes motherly care comes in the form of tough love, other times, it’s hired killers.

 

“Don’t act stupid,” he drawls. The gun stares her in the eye. For the first time in her life, she considers the fact that she could actually _die._

 

The morbid thought comes attached to another, unexpected wish.

 

If she’s going to die, she wants to see Kara one last time.

 

There’s an incredibly confusing second that passes like a timelapse. One moment, the killer is towering over her. She blinks, and the next moment, Supergirl is there, gun mangled into a mess of steel in her hand. The man skids to a stop a few yards away, motionless.

 

“Are you okay?” There’s a dangerous intensity in Supergirl’s eyes that Lena’s never seen before, something akin to desperation. “ _Lena_?”

 

She blinks again and it’s gone. “Yes, thank you,” she mumbles, words running together. “Just another gift from my mother.”

 

Does Supergirl always look this concerned for every citizen of National City, or is Lena just really drunk? “Your mother? What do you mean?” Oh, yes, her mother is in prison. How to explain that the walls of a prison are immaterial for a person like Lillian? Lena chuckles a little and returns to her search for the keys.

 

She squints into her purse. Where are her damn keys?

 

Supergirl reaches into her purse and extracts her keys wordlessly. “Lena,” she murmurs, sounding like a teacher talking to a child about something that the child doesn’t understand yet. “Did your mother send him?”

 

Lena shakes her head and the world spins. She staggers into the side of the car before Supergirl can catch her, arms outstretched. “I’m fine,” she mutters in response to the unspoken question.

 

Supergirl regards her with wide eyes. “You’re drunk!” As if she’s never met a drunk person before.

 

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.” Lena fumbles the keys onto the pavement and stares down at them forlornly. “Can you get those?”

 

Supergirl picks them up, doesn’t give them back. “I’m taking you home. You can’t drive like this.”

 

Lena stares at Supergirl, with her chin strong and resolute, and makes a decision. “Fine. But I’m not going home.” Supergirl’s chin jerks up, protest jumping to her lips. Lena continues on. “You know Kara Danvers, right? Her apartment, please.” She sounds like she’s giving directions to a chauffeur, which makes her laugh. Supergirl, her own personal jet.

 

The caped heroine hesitates a second too long. “Or I can drive,” Lena suggests impatiently. She has no time for these games. She needs to see Kara before she loses her nerve or the alcohol wears off.

 

“All right,” Supergirl acquiesces. “Come here.”

 

Lena steps forward, feeling a twinge of awkwardness at the unusual intimacy of the words. Usually, when a woman who looks like Supergirl says “ _Come here_ ” to her, there are a lot fewer clothes involved.

She wonders if Supergirl would be into that.

 

The next second, strong, powerful arms are sweeping her up and clear, sharp air hits her face. She gasps, world spinning, and Supergirl’s hand tightens reassuring on her thigh. She doesn’t have time to think about the heat radiating from the other woman’s body or the subtle ripple of muscle under her skin when Lena clutches at her or the exquisite curve of her lips from this angle; they’re at the entrance of Kara’s building in the time it takes for Lena to get properly dizzy.

 

“I need to go,” Supergirl says when Lena regains her balance. Her head is cocked to the sky in response to an empyreal command only she can hear. “You’ll be fine with Kara?”

 

“I will,” Lena answers confidently. “Hopefully,” she mutters under her breath. Supergirl gives her a sharp look but doesn’t say anything.

 

“Stay safe.”

 

And then she’s gone, a light blue blur against a dark blue sky.

 

All the way up, with each floor that lights up on the elevator panel, she wrangles her sober side. She would never do this sober, but she isn’t sober, is she? Drunk Lena is driven by her wants, by the carnal cravings that the sober side usually keeps under control. Drunk Lena is probably going to do something irreversibly idiotic, but she isn’t going to be quite drunk enough to forget it.

 

With the world tilting lazily around her, her previous rage feels forgotten and insignificant. In its place is a haze of rapidly growing desire, a redirected outlet for her stewing emotions. She fixes her hair in the blurry reflection of the elevator doors.

 

Lena pauses outside Kara’s door.

 

The full gravity of what she’s going to do hasn’t sunk in yet. Is she really going to knock on this door, see Kara again for the first time in two weeks? The hurt that still simmers from being abandoned splashes against her insides. Kara hurt her. Kara doesn’t care, doesn’t care, does she _care_ ? Is this her litmus test, so recklessly designed in a burst of drunken inspiration? _Why is she doing this?_

 

The answer is basic, easily explained: she still loves her. Loves her! Lena’s a terrible mess, a tangled bunch of issues and desperate attachments, and still she hopes Kara feels something back. In what universe does this make any sense?

 

_I care, Lena._

 

She knocks, and waits.

 

It takes some time. After all, it’s after midnight. But eventually, Lena hears hurried footsteps on the other side of the door.

 

A vivid image of Kara, limbs askew on a bed, thighs pinned on either side of Lena’s head, flashes across her mind’s eye. Oh, how delicious her moans would sound, the breathless way she would whimper Lena’s name, the needy tug of her ( _long_ , slender) fingers in Lena’s hair…

 

The door swings open. Kara stands there in a too-big t-shirt that hangs just above her knees, sleep crinkled in the squint of her eyes and hair mussed. Lena idly wonders if she’s wearing pants under that shirt.

 

“Lena,” she breathes, eyes widening into full consciousness. “What—”

 

There’s a rule. When you’re riding a motorcycle, and you’re about to crash, you keep your eyes where you want to go and not where you’re going. Right now, she’s clutching a 300 horsepower bike of raw hunger, rushing 250 towards a cliff of her own making.

 

Lena keeps her eyes on Kara’s mouth and stumbles across the threshold on a swell of pure need.

 

She kisses Kara like she’s dying.

 

She might as well be.

 

Kara gasps, eyes fluttering shut. She lets Lena press her backwards into her apartment, body soft and compliant, arching to fit against Lena’s. The door clicks closed behind them.

 

The sound seems to startle her out of the kiss-induced haze, and she jerks back, irises a gradient from the sky to indigo. “Lena, what’s going — ”

 

“Shhh,” Lena commands, drawing Kara back to her. Kara tastes like toothpaste and sleep. “I want you so bad,” she husks, and Kara shivers against her.

 

“Kiss me again,” Kara asks quietly, and Lena does.

— — — — —

Moonlight spills onto the bed and soaks them in lunar glow. Shadows, lonely sentinels of the nighttime, stretch across the room and claim their domain where light once shone. The alarm clock stares with its red-eyed glow, time slipping by with each blink. The sun will be rising soon.

 

Lena stares up at the ceiling and allows memories to wash over her. The waves crash in time with the clenching pulse of her budding headache. Each image, each flash of sensation is tinged with a blur of inebriation that’s long gone.

 

_— Kara’s shirt on the floor, tangling in her legs and sending them both tumbling onto the bed in a mess of swallowed laughter and swelling emotions —_

 

_— the sweet glide of skin on skin, the tender warmth of Kara’s lips at her throat —_

 

_— sanctified gasps drawn from Kara’s lungs like pleas to a higher being with no name but Lena’s —_

 

_— the hot, wet slide of mouths greedy for flesh and the sweep of hands across searing skin —_

 

_— the rich musk of desire swirling through heady scents of the sunlight —_

 

_— and the alpine peak, stretching across the horizon like an expanse of earth not yet discovered as she free falls —_

 

_— muscles flexing from ecstatic, arching tension to lethargic, contented laziness —_

 

It’s now, lying in the turmoil of a used bed, that the gravity hits her.

 

She slept with Kara. Kara let her — no, Kara _wanted_ it, wanted her just as much as Lena did. It’s easy now, in the aftermath of intemperance and a typhoon of emotion, to pretend it was just lust. _Just lust_ is uncomplicated. Carnal desire, fueled by the animal of human nature, is readily controlled with the logic’s lash. _Just lust_ would be true, if it hadn’t been for —

 

 _“Stay,_ ” _Kara murmurs into the hollow where Lena’s collarbones met, dipping into a bow at the apex. Lena shouldn’t. She can’t._

 

_Kara’s lips feel like a brand, delicate flesh pressing right above the hard jut of bone. “Stay,” she repeats, almost pleading. Lena can’t, she shouldn’t._

 

_She does._

 

 _Just lust_ doesn’t mean _just tonight,_ it means no attachments it means leaving won’t rend her to pieces it means she should be able to leave _now._

 

She lies in Kara’s bed and admits the truth.

 

She’s the liar. She’s lying to herself, trying to force her emotions free from her decisions. To what end, but more pain? No matter what Kara does, Lena’s tied to her, a half-willing slave to her heart. She can’t break free. She doesn’t _want_ to.

 

Lena takes in the smooth planes of Kara’s back, the sleek grind of her shoulder muscles and the peace smoothed across her features. Does Kara not understand this? Does she not know that “ _You’re my only friend in National City”_ is a cry for help, is a sign that says “WARNING: FRAGILE” in big yellow letters?

 

Maybe she could have done more. Maybe she could have been more reckless. She should have invited Kara to dinner. Should have sent her more flowers. Would that have won her over? Red and yellow tulips, pansies, violets….

 

But the past is gone and she’s left rudderless in the present, spinning in increasing whirlpools of emotional doom. In seven hours, she’s going to be on board a plane to Japan for a business meeting that might determine the fate of L Corp. In five hours she needs to be at the airport. In three hours she needs to be gone; she’s terrible at packing.

 

She gazes up the ceiling and prays to her agnostic god for a miracle.

 

What if Kara wakes up? _“I love you,_ ” she’ll mutter sleepily, pressing a kiss to Lena’s temple.

 

What if Kara comes after her? “ _I’ll never leave,_ ” she’ll promise, eyes sparkling with that naϊve sincerity.

 

What if —

 

 _No_. No, this wretched praying is worse than those savage lies. She has to lie to herself to stay sane. Wetness trickles, cold and impersonal, down her temple, and she pushes hopeless wishes out of her head. She sniffles. Kara won’t miss her.

 

There’s nothing to miss. Not with Luthor blood running in her veins, not with the guillotine hanging over her neck and her mother’s hand on the lever. This night is all she has because of circumstance. Because of her own foolishness. She has this night because Kara asked her to stay; nothing else. Kara asked and she gave, a miniature replica of the Shakespearean tragedy playing out in her life.

 

If she’s the doomed protagonist, then her fatal flaw is loving Kara Danvers.

 

Even if — dare she think it? — even if Kara _did,_ by some freak accident, love her back….it would never work. It couldn’t. It’s too dangerous for somebody so bright to consort with a person as shadow-stalked as her. Kara would be in constant danger from her mother, under constant threat from Lex’s henchmen — not to mention the vultures of the press. It’s better for everybody, including herself, to step away now.

 

A police siren laments from outside, pre-dawn mists swirling languidly past the window like grey ghosts. Kara shifts beside her and Lena’s heart leaps into her throat, almost choking on hope. She should leave before Kara actually wakes up —

 

Kara rolls over and reaches sleepily for Lena, who sinks into her arms without thinking. Warmth, like the kiss of the summer sun, envelops her. Her heart decides on a new home right below her windpipe.  A trembling sigh escapes her lips, and another tear slides down her face.

 

Perhaps she can stay.

 

_Just a little longer..._

— — — — —

She digs a pen out of her purse and leaves a note for Supergirl.

 

_Supergirl:_

_Please take care of Kara for me._

_Lena_

 

It takes her exactly two hours to pack enough for a week. Suitcases crowded at her feet like children wanting attention, she stands at the front door and surveys her apartment.

 

Despite two months of residence, it still looks the same it did in the picture of the listing. Pristine white and black modern decor, minimalistic furniture and glossy magazines spread evenly on the living room table. The only difference is that these magazines have her face on them; not narcissism, although she wishes she could claim it as such. Those magazines have Kara’s articles in them. She likes reading them when she’s half-tipsy, letting the words roll around her head and imagining the way Kara must’ve written them.

 

Seconds before she has to leave, she crosses the room and grabs one of the magazines. Not one with her face on it, but the one with her favorite article. It’s a puff piece about commitment, dating, and “making a leap of faith with somebody you love”. Kara’s enthusiasm and devotion to her craft is evident in each clause.

 

The irony isn’t lost on her, of course. She pardons it with the excuse that she wants something other than financial spreadsheets and business information to read on the flight over.

 

The airport is bustling neatly when she arrives, and nobody takes exceptional notice of Lena Luthor. She peruses the news as she waits by the gate. With each word, she wills a mental tunnel vision on herself. If she focuses on the recent Syrian tragedy or the impending political turbulence, she can forget about Kara. Well, not forget; she doesn’t think she can ever forget Kara Danvers. It’s more of a forced obliviousness that overtakes her, a forced confinement of those impetuous emotions threatening to shatter her mask.

 

The lady on the intercom tells them that they can board, and Lena’s surprised by the intensity of disappointment that surges up in response. That’s irrational. Kara never gets up this early. There’s no reason for Lena to not get on that plane.

 

She gets her own seat in first class and immediately kicks her heels off to create a nest of blankets. The Tylenol she’d taken earlier is barely holding off her hangover and her plan for the next fourteen hours is to sleep. Still, a tenuous razor wire of hope tethers her to conscious world. Her rebellious mind fantasizes about Kara running onto the plane, confessing her love. Or maybe she’d get Supergirl to stop the plane and kiss Lena on the tarmac, like in those rom coms Kara adores.

 

The ill-tempered grumble of jet engines jars her from high-school daydreams and back into reality, where no dramatic reunions await. When the pretty stewardess walks by with a company-policy smile in place, Lena almost — _almost,_ barely held back by the seat belt around her waist — leaps up and runs off the plane. She bites her tongue and grips the armrests with white knuckled fists.

 

She’s made her decision. Pride and shame make her stand by it.

 

The ground pulls away and that familiar lurch in her stomach signals liftoff. National City is coming to life like a slumbering giant, lights flicking on and traffic growing snarled. She catches sight of the L Corp building as the plane banks, and watches until the clouds swallow them whole.

 

She stares at the voluptuous clouds and reaches for the magazine rolled up in her purse. She opens it and the first line of Kara’s article jumps out at her.

 

_True love demands selfless sacrifice and wholehearted commitment._

 

A sharp, searing pain sparks to life behind the bridge of her nose. _I’m dying,_ she thinks crazily, before the sting subsides and she registers the cool tears dripping off her cheeks. No, not death. Just crying.

  
She puts the magazine away, slides the window shut, and closes her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Lena is a dramatic hoe. I love her.
> 
> is it angsty enough? I can never tell when I read it over. hmu with prompts @feveredreams.tumblr.com
> 
> comment to give the CEO of L Corp a hug and flowers!


End file.
